Cocoa
by Connie Shin
Summary: It's a Lana/Chloe story ... *gasp*! Note the slash, though it's not graphic. 'Kay?


I could feel the hand on my shoulder before I saw anything. Hmmm ... too small to be Clark or Pete. I don't have any female friends (close ones, anyway) to match the small hand and long, delicate fingers tapping on my shoulder. I turn around, and am greeted right away by a grin with enough voltage to rival the Great White Way.  
  
"Chloe ..."  
  
"Lana?"  
  
She looks away for a second. Not at anything in particular, she just looks out into nothingness for a moment before her eyes return to me. "Chloe, I haven't really thanked you enough for what you did for me. Finding my mother's speech, it meant a lot to me."  
  
Lana is so damn pretty. Not hot, not sexy, but pretty ... like a reassuring, sweet, open kind of pretty. I keep telling myself that I should hate her for, whatever, but I can't. I can't bring myself to dislike Miss Sweetness and Light. No, I can't hate her at all.  
  
Try the opposite of hate? No, not the exact opposite. A word less strong than "love", but stronger than "like" ... God, I'm so tempted to say I "like like" her, but I'm not in the fourth grade! There are words for this! Umm, yeah ...  
  
"Lana, it wasn't anything." Lie, lie, a goddamn lie. I went to the library and scoured the microfiche machine for hours, then hit the media files. All in all, I spent over seven hours looking for that speech. And I don't have all day to go hunting for obscure speeches, y'know. But, Lana asked. Nicely. And I guess I had to respond. 'Cause I like her. Or something.  
  
"No, you must've put a lot of work into finding it. So ... I was wondering, could I make supper for you?"  
  
Supper? "Lana?"  
  
"Please don't say no. I really do owe you, Chloe. I don't know how else to repay you. Please?"  
  
Miss Popularity is begging a Nobody to have supper with her? Surely, somewhere out there, Bill Clinton has taken a vow of celibacy in a monastery. Or, Ted Koppel has parted ways with that ain't-foolin'-nobody rug of his. Either one of these events is more likely to occur than Lana Lang asking me to have supper with her. But, it just happened. The world has gone mad.  
  
"You're not allowing me to say no ... so, yes?"  
  
Her hand has not left my shoulder throughout the entire conversation. "Good. I've got the whole thing ready. Is seven o'clock okay for you?"  
  
Bear ... shitting in woods ... you know. "Yeah, that's great. Did you want me to bring anything?"  
  
"Come as you are, Chloe." The tone of her voice has changed. Like there is more to this; maybe it's a trick? Maybe I'll show up just in time to become the object of ridicule for Miss Popularity and all her pom-pom and jockstrap friends. Not that Lana is known for being mean. She's the nice one, always the nice one.  
  
Do I trust you? "Okay, Lana."  
  
Sure.  
  
  
  
Seven o'clock finds me on the front porch of the Lana residence, a little ways outside of the town. I look across the street and see Clark's house. I usually come out here to see him. I've only come out here to see him. I can see lights on, so someone's home. But, I can't see Clark anywhere. Man, would he be jealous of me right now! I get to sup with his lady love, and he gets to hang out with his New Best Friend ... Mr. Rich, Pale, and Bald. I'm not jealous, I'm not. Really, how many people get run over by one of the wealthiest people for miles and miles, and have a friendship come out of it? Why can't I get run over by ... someone? Not necessarily Lex - not that he isn't sexy in his own way - but someone different. Someone nice, considerate, attractive ... money couldn't hurt ... and someone who understands my innate need to cover all that happens in the world ...  
  
"Chloe?"  
  
Dammit, the door was open and I didn't even see it! Oh so smooth, Chloe.  
  
Lana is standing on the other side of the open door. Her straight, dark hair is in a messy bun. Just as I notice this, a tendril falls from the confinement ... as if screaming to me. Okay, I'm officially retracting the "not sexy" part of my previous statement.  
  
"You like the cold, Chloe? I never knew." She has this smirk on her face, contrasting perfectly with the Donna Reed-esque, white, frilly apron she is wearing over a form-fitting gray sweater and blue jeans. I'm glad that I chose to wear jeans, too ... so this dinner is informal? I didn't want to assume, but I also didn't want to call her before I came just to ask "what do I wear" ... as if this is some kind of date.  
  
"A sarcastic pom-pom? Who would have guessed?"  
  
"How else do you expect me to keep up with you, Chloe?"  
  
"Keep up with me? Again with the surprises, Lana ... I'm impressed."  
  
Her eyes have changed somehow. Her voice is more hushed, but still just loud enough so that she can be heard. "I'm full of surprises, Chloe." I look again, and her smirk has evolved into an earnest grin. Things have changed yet again, but it's nothing tangible.  
  
"Are you going to stand out there all night? Come in!"  
  
  
  
She leads me to a large room with white walls, minimal furniture, and lots of flowers. I mean, LOTS of flowers. Allergy sufferer hell, for sure ... the room is covered in lilies and sunflowers and roses and more. I'm not allergic, but I also didn't grow up around many flowers; I feel both privileged to witness the beauty and sneezy at the thought of having to live amongst pollen factories, even in the fall and winter.  
  
Lana motions for me to sit on an overstuffed brown sofa. I do, and find myself melting into the soft, plush upholstery. Ooooh, so comfy.  
  
She disappears into the kitchen for a moment. I am busy making my acquaintance with the sofa. Mmmm, the life of an intrepid reporter-in- training can be rough; it would be nice to come home to one of these sofas at the end of the day.  
  
Lana reappears at the threshold of the kitchen, drying her hands on a small towel. She places the towel on her shoulder and reaches back to untie her too-cute apron. She looks so very 1950's housewife that I almost don't notice her lips moving. "We're having homemade chicken pot pie ... it's getting colder out there and I thought you'd like some comfort food. Is that okay?"  
  
Is that OK, she asks. She's speaking to a girl for whom "supper" means something freeze-dried and microwavable. "That sounds great. You're the consummate hostess."  
  
"What can I say ... Martha Stewart is the boss of me." She looks away for a moment. "It'll be a while until supper's ready. How about I make some cocoa?"  
  
"How about I drop to one knee and hand you a ring?" Whathafuck? Did I just say that? Tell me I didn't just say that out loud!  
  
I must have, because she covers her face and giggles before retreating into the kitchen. Jeez, great ... did I just out myself to Lana? Not that I'm completely out, mind you; I've never made much distinction between boys and girls. I've had crushes on girls before, but none of them matches the ethereal perfection of Lana Lang. I've never told anyone about that, though.  
  
Maybe she thinks I'm joking. Yeah, that's it. I'm the Queen of Sarcasm anyway; no way would she truly believe what I said. I think I'm still safe.  
  
Hmmm, maybe I should change the subject. "Where's your aunt?"  
  
"Out with friends," Lana calls out from the kitchen.  
  
"It's just us?"  
  
"Does that surprise you?"  
  
Well, yeah. "I guess I'm not used to the one-on-one attention anymore. Not since Clark found someone new to pal around with. He used to be my best friend, but now he's always blowing me off! I'd be pissed at him, if ..."  
  
"If he wasn't sweet, dorky Clark?" She completes sentences, too. Scary.  
  
"Yeah, I guess."  
  
"Do you like Clark?"  
  
She's still in the kitchen, so she doesn't see the pained look on my face, like I've been punched in the gut. It's enough that I've admitted how Clark absence has hurt me - to a pom-pom, no less - but admitting that is just too much. Maybe I do like Clark. Maybe I don't. But it's too confusing to think about right now ... and anyway, he's not thinking about me, so why should I think about him?  
  
She reappears at the threshold, holding a small tray with 2 large mugs. I can see the whipped cream piled at least an inch higher than the rim of the mug. God, Lana, keep this up and I will have to propose.  
  
"I'm sorry I asked you such a personal question. I can be so rude. Sorry." She walks over to me, and sets the tray down on the marble coffee table directly in front of me. "I've found that chocolate is good for what ails ya, especially when it comes to boys. I hope you like whipped cream."  
  
"Of course! Whipped cream makes the drink. Without it, the cocoa is merely a naked shell, unduly exposed to the elements."  
  
She brings a hand to her face again, to cover up a giggle. "I'm glad you like it."  
  
I've immediately started on the cocoa, and I didn't notice her eyes probing me until the stare bore a hole in me. I look up, and sure enough, she is looking at me. Our eyes meet, and I can't help but feel ... something.  
  
"I aim to please, Chloe."  
  
Huh?  
  
No way that's right! Did Lana Lang ... did she just flirt with me? She had the whole smoky gaze thing going, and the ambiguously sexy response ... no, no, HELL NO! I could never get that lucky. Shit, half the human race wants Lana, and the other half wants to be her. Out of all those people ... her and ME? Naaaaaah.  
  
I feel her sitting down on the sofa, but I can't see her as my back is to her. She's not too close, but not too far away, either. Is she trying to play it cool, too? How did she end up being the pursuer, and me the pursued? No, I don't know that yet. It's just my overactive imagination again. Yeah, that's it. But, what if she is flirting with me? What do I do? For one, I probably should turn around. Jeez, I'm such a dork.  
  
Lana's eyes widen as I meet her gaze. And I can see the gleam in them again. Mischievous Lana has made a comeback.  
  
"Who am I?" She dives into her mug face first, then lifts her head. Her lips are covered in stiff, white cream. She looks at me through her lashes, and in a lower, deeper voice, she says, "Clark, so good to see you." Her voice is dripping with lusty anticipation; in other words, her Lex Luthor impression is dead on. I can't help but laugh, and then play along.  
  
I slap my cheeks to make them rosy, and attempt to capture the "aww, shucks" quality of Clark. "Lex! What are you doing here?"  
  
Lana rubs the top of her head ... the best damn impression of Lex's "cranium caress" that I've ever seen. "I was just stalk- I mean, I was working. Yes, working HARD." She then runs her tongue across her lips, raking the white cream into her mouth. I can't control the laughter anymore. Her emphasis on the word "hard" and the predatory grin that accompanies it are so accurate that I halfway expect Lex to drive up and burst through the door with an army of lawyers, angry at Lana's trademark infringement.  
  
I'm laughing my ass off. This is not only hilarious, but perversely enough, therapeutic. "We're always running into each other, Lex, isn't that funny?"  
  
"Depends on your definition of 'funny'," she says with a raised eyebrow. Gawd, woman, quit with the funny.  
  
I compose myself long enough to say, "Whatdya mean, Lex?"  
  
"I mean, I'm hot for your ass, Clark." Her stare intensifies.  
  
Wow, she said "hot for your ass". I'm going to hell for liking that, right? Really liking it ...  
  
"I know I'm just a farmboy who doesn't know a French kiss from French toast, but ..."  
  
"Yes, Clark?"  
  
"Kiss me, Lex! Kiss me right now!"  
  
Then ... flesh. Warm, soft, slightly moist lips are on mine. On ME. We're no longer Lex and Clark; we're very much Lana and Chloe ... kissing? KISSING!  
  
Shit!  
  
I pull away. I don't know why. I'm such a dumbass. I enjoyed the kiss, but ... I enjoyed it. I can't get past the enjoyment, even to the very bizarreness that lies beneath: Lana Lang - Miss Popularity - kissed the Nobody Editor of the Torch.  
  
She doesn't look confused, or even conflicted. Her eyes are filled with concern, and she has her hand on my shoulder. Our faces are only inches away, and I can smell her. She smells clean. No fragrance, no flowery assault on the nose ... just simple and clean. I can feel the desire rising again, but I know I can't have her. She already has someone.  
  
"What about Whitney?"  
  
The corner of her mouth turns up and out, becoming this wide and feral grin. On anyone else, it would look creepy. Like got-away-with-murder creepy. But she manages to look dangerous and sexy at once.  
  
"Let me tell you a story." She gestures to my mug with a sweep of her hand. "Go on, drink. Don't want it to get cold, do you?"  
  
I bring the mug to my lips, but my eyes don't leave her. She reclines on the sofa, looking out into nothingness again. She's far away, but still so close.  
  
Then, she turns and looks at me ... or really, through me. Her gaze is Lex- intense. I can feel myself becoming excited and a bit apprehensive of whatever it is she has to tell me.  
  
"Once upon a time, I joined the cheerleading squad and met Whitney." Her voice is even, and not very emotive. After a brief pause, she continues. "He was nice, funny, and a football player. I thought I hit the jackpot, y'know? And Nell liked him right away; she has this thing about knowing the right people. Whitney fit that bill, being the captain of the football team, so that wasn't a problem. We got along fine, and we still do."  
  
I was about to ask the obvious question, when Lana put a single finger on my lips. Oh, right. A time to talk and a time to listen, I get it.  
  
Lana has this really sweet smile on her face before she picks up the story again. "One night, I invited him over to see 'Interview With the Vampire' with me. I stepped out of the room to make popcorn and pour drinks. When I returned, Whitney was rubbing himself ..."  
  
Ewwwwwww ...  
  
"... with Brad Pitt and Tom Cruise being the only people on the screen."  
  
Jaw go plunk, onto the floor. Oh. My. God. Whitney ... letter jacket Whitney ... captain of the football team Whitney ... "Are you sure?"  
  
Lana cocks her head to one side as she looks at me. Her voice is just above a whisper, just loud enough to be heard. "Brad Pitt. Tom Cruise. My boyfriend rubbing himself. What other conclusion is there to reach?"  
  
Good point. However ... "Aren't you and Whitney still together?"  
  
"In a manner of speaking." Her smile widens, as she continues the discourse about the inexplicably gay Whitney. "We can't have a homosexual captain of the football team, now can we? Just as we can't have a bi- curious cheerleader. He needs me, I need him, and we're happy to help each other out. Our romantic relationship is just for show, but we're still very good friends."  
  
Now it's official: the world has fallen off its axis. Let me see if I can get this straight ... straight, ha! Whitney jacks off to Tom Cruise and Brad Pitt (good taste, but still ...), he and Lana are a "front" couple, and Lana is bi-curious. Too weird!  
  
I'm unconsciously shaking my head. So much to take in ... it feels like too much. And there is Lana, putting her hands on my cheeks and bringing my face up to hers. Her eyes are full of something, something like need ... but not quite as desperate. She's asking me nicely, if I want to continue. I answer by closing the distance.  
  
Her lips are soft, almost like marshmallows, and taste faintly of chocolate of cherry lip gloss. She is leaning into me, and I'm wrapping my arms around her. I want to lose myself in this ... this secure, soft place to fall ... the smoldering dark eyes, the even darker hair, the easy smiles and the coquettish smirks. I want it all. I want what she'll give me. I'll take whatever she lets me have.  
  
She opens her mouth a bit, and I feel the moist sweep of her tongue across my lips. Oh God, I can't take it ... it's all I can do to swallow the kiss and crush her in my arms, but it's still too much. She's taking me in whole, and I just can't resist her anymore. I can't ...  
  
I can't see that gravity is stronger than even the magnetism of the moment. She is leaning on me, and I am leaning on nothing. She climbs on me, I feel myself growing weak beneath her will, and then there is falling. My head collides with the armrest, which is apparently a lot harder than it looks. "Shit!"  
  
My eyes instinctively shut when I hit the armrest, and I can see stars. Bright flashes of light, spelling out Lana's name. Then, I feel a small hand with long, thin fingers rubbing the back of my head. Those fingers aren't mine ...  
  
I open my eyes to see that Lana has her body pressed against mine, from her long legs to her heaving chest. Through the sweater, I can feel her hardened nipples against my chest. Her face is not more than an inch away from mine, and her hair has fallen around us, reducing our world to two sets of eyes, noses, and lips. Especially lips.  
  
"Are you OK, Chloe?"  
  
"Lana ... why?"  
  
She chuckles a bit. "I can't find an intelligent and pretty female hopelessly attractive?"  
  
I can't help but smirk in return. "Damn you, you've been reading my notes again, haven't you? That's my line."  
  
"Turnabout is fair play."  
  
"That it is ... Lana?"  
  
Her voice is a whisper again. "Yes?"  
  
"How do you want to do this ... us?"  
  
She doesn't look away. Her eyelids are at half-mast, and the look she gives me makes my jeans feel very warm. Wow. "Let's discuss that when we eat."  
  
Eating? Oh ... eating. Yeah.  
  
  
  
Epilogue  
  
  
  
"So, has Whitney started dating again?"  
  
Lana Lang moves in closer to me, puts her mouth to my ear. "He tells me Clark is hot. He wants to know if I can hook him up!"  
  
"But, Clark's got Lex. At least, Lex wishes, anyway."  
  
"Yeah, well, a high school boyfriend isn't a husband, he's an obstacle." She stabs at the salad with a fork and inhales the veggie goodness. Then she winks at me.  
  
"Hmm, I wonder ... who would be on top?"  
  
"Clark and Whitney?"  
  
"Clark and Lex."  
  
"Lex, definitely. He looks like he always ends up on top." She gives me a quick, heated look ... one that no one else can see.  
  
Did I mention that I love this girl? "Well, Clark's stronger, but Lex wrote the book on manipulation. So, we agree ... Lex it is. Now, Clark or Whitney?"  
  
"My bet's on Whitney. He looks like a topper."  
  
"How experienced is he with this?" I can't believe I'm asking about this.  
  
"Would you like me to ask him to answer that, complete with pictures?"  
  
I shove her playfully, and she giggles. And right on cue, Clark and Pete walk up to our lunch table. They see us giggling and exchange confused looks. Clark looks at me, then Lana, then me again. I can tell that I've just made his brain explode.  
  
"Lana ... hi!"  
  
"Hi, Clark." She gives that beaming grin to a lot of people. She's nice ... but I know the rest of her. I know ...  
  
Pete is looking at once surprised and about ready to do cartwheels. "So, Lana, will any more of your cheerleader friends be joining us for lunch?"  
  
"Just me, Pete ... sorry to disappoint."  
  
Clark is still standing, looking amazed. I would let him in on things, but he doesn't know secrets like I know secrets. And this is one secret Lana and I intend to keep, all to ourselves.  
  
I rise from my chair. "I'm getting ketchup. Coming, Lana?"  
  
She grins at me. Most would think it was an innocent grin, but I know better. "Sure."  
  
We circle the table, and we both glance at Clark's super rear. I look at her and mouth, "Bottom."  
  
She giggles, and whispers, "What about in a threesome?"  
  
"Clark, Whitney, AND Lex?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
I can't stop the lewd grin from spreading across my face, upon imagining that heavenly scene. "Why don't we give them a heads up? Then, when it happens ... we can tape it ..."  
  
"For research purposes, only, I'm sure."  
  
"Of course," I reply, and we both share glances before walking to the condiment table. 


End file.
